The Other Woman

by The other woman (NCP) (lit)

  She could not look him in the eye, so she stared at the stone wall on the other side. "Dozens. Hundreds."

  "Which? Dozens or hundreds?" He sounded amused.

  She widened her eyes. "Why, the highest number, of course." She batted her eyes. "You know I’m just a simple woman and have little command of numbers."

  "Which is why your books are always in such good order," he surmised. He let her move.

  "I hire good help," she said sagely.

  "Good, then you can hire it to pack. I wish to leave here tomorrow." He smiled. "I’ll be glad to help if you need it."

  "Thanks, but no." He was right. The sooner they got on with their little contest the happier she’d be. Already her traitorous body was awakening in a way she’d suppressed for years. Now was not the time for desire, not with him, and she needed to remember that.

  They’d neared the docks, and she nodded to one of the small ships. "One year from now I’ll be on one of those, riding out to sea."

  Roland just smiled.

  * * * *

  A stiff spring wind blew, stealing her body heat, but she refused to ride in the carriage. There was nothing worse than sitting in a box and being unable to see. Besides, it made her seem pampered and weak, and she refused to give that impression. As far as she could tell, Roland didn’t mind the weather at all, but then not much set him off.

  It was exceedingly difficult to pick a fight with such a mild tempered man, she decided. No matter how foul her mood, he simply smiled as if he was having the pleasantest of days. And her mood was ugly. She’d tried one last time to talk reason into the queen. The best she’d been able to arrange was a brief meeting with one of her lady advisors. During their fruitless meeting the elder woman had asked her careful questions.

  "So you fear him? Find him loathsome?"

  Ally had kept her face expressionless. "I don’t know him well enough to have formed an opinion. He simply has no interest in Riverdell or me."

  "But would you cringe from his touch, lady?"

  Telling silence.

  "I see." And she had. Too well.

  Ally ground her teeth. At least her temper kept her warm. Berating herself for her weakness gave her an outlet for her black rage, but it wasn’t helping, so she dug her heels into her horse’s sides and rode it out.

  The smooth stride always soothed her, as did the wind that tore through her hair. It didn’t take long to leave their escort behind, but the thunder of hooves behind her said Roland was right at her heels. She knew full well his stallion was a match for her gelding, but he stayed out of her line of vision. Maybe he knew something about tempers.

  The healing power of speed did its magic, and minutes later she reined her reluctant horse to a more sedate pace. It wouldn’t do to tire him now, though Long Socks had incredible stamina.

  "Feel better now?" Roland reined in beside her. His awesome black, appropriately named Night, tossed its head. He still wanted to run.

  "What makes you think I felt bad?" She tried to match her breathing to his own, slower rhythm. Did the man ever sweat?

  "Perhaps the raven of gloom perched on your shoulder all day?" he mussed. "Or it might have been the biting comments, the chilling stares…. Who knows for certain?"

  Ally snorted. "I’ve never liked mornings."

  "Ah. Perhaps I will change your mind about them."

  "Not likely."

  His smile was playful. "Mornings can be fun."

  "So can certain funerals," she assured him.

  Roland laughed. "How is it I never knew you were this entertaining?" His eyes went to her chest. "You’ve changed a great deal."

  Even through her coat she could feel his stare. "No, you’ve simply noticed what has always been." Finally. When she was through waiting for it. "But don’t worry, I haven’t wasted my youth. Others have … watched over me in your absence."

  His gaze narrowed, and he looked away as their escort joined them.

  Now he was the one with the black scowl.

  Good. Ten years had taught her the uselessness of trying to please a man. Most of the time she got the best results when she defiantly did as she chose. Not one of them had ever cared what became of her, just that she give in to their whim. Ride like a gentle lady. Walk, don’t stride. Speak softly, girl. How many times had she heard that growing up? She’d defied the mold then and grown even more independent as an adult. Now the men who’d spent the last ten years alternately trying to woo her or intimidate her out of her lands had learned to respect her. Sometimes fear her.

  Roland would, too.

  One thing she’d learned fast. Men were unsettled by a woman as hard as they were. Her people were well cared for, thus loyal, but in her personal life and dealings with other nobles she was ruthless. She never backed down, never averted her eyes in her dealings, which had earned her the titles of ‘bold and shameless’. It was said of her that no pattering maiden could be so brazen in business, and her reputation had grown from there.

  She’d encouraged it. It was one way of drawing blood from her father, who had finally given up his attempts at reconciliation. She wanted no part of him. Any man who would let his daughter be trapped into such a marriage didn’t deserve her.

  It was also a strike at Roland. Let him see what he’d wrought with his neglect. He might not love her, but any man would be humiliated by her bad reputation. She would capitalize on it. In one year he’d be begging the queen to let them out of this marriage.

  She would do whatever it took to ensure it.

  Her first chance came at the inn they stopped at for the night. It was near dusk, and she was tired and chilled. The stable hand who came to fetch her horse was red haired and freckled, but it didn’t matter. Disgusting Roland did.

  While he was busy speaking with the innkeeper, she followed the redhead into the stables. It was difficult to concentrate with frozen toes, but she put her best effort into it.

  "Hello." She smiled charmingly at the young man.

  His eyes widened at her sultry tone, but he went on with his work, perhaps thinking he hadn’t heard right.

  "You l-look like a fellow who could use some company," she purred, gritting her teeth against the chatter.

  "And you sound like a woman who could use warming up," Roland said from behind her.

  Annoyed, she spun around. "N-nosey, aren’t you?"

  One look from Roland and the curious stable hand whipped his head back to his work as if they didn’t exist.

  Roland smiled like a pirate and took her hand in a firm grip. Instead of placing it on his arm, he led her by it. "Let’s get you before a fire, my lady."

  Unsettled by his touch and lack of visible anger, she tried to slip her hand away without drawing attention, but had no luck. The man was a rock.

  Once inside the inn he sat her before the fire and helped her with her coat. Not content with that, he also seated her. Every courtesy only made her angrier. He would not trick her with his pleasant manner. Whatever he thought he’d gain by forcing her into this marriage, he’d made a grave mistake.

  When their server was out of earshot, she leaned forward and said through her smile, "Do you plan to sweeten your way into my bed, Roland?"

  He regarded her levelly. "Would it work?"

  "Unlikely." When would he mention the stable hand?

  The picture of calm, he studied the fire.

  A frown formed on her brow. What was this? Men did not react this way. Maybe he needed a push. "I prefer a lover without ulterior motives."

  "As do I."

  What had he meant by that? "That should be easy enough to find. There’s a serving wench or two in here."

  "You wouldn’t find it tawdry to send your husband to a hired woman’s bed while you snuck off with the stable hand?" His question held absolutely no heat.

  A blink of surprise was the best reply she could manage. Worse, she could feel the heat of a wicked blush paint her cheeks. Of course she would hate it, but why did he care? "What manner
of man are you? I saw you with enough women on the journey to Queenstown to know you like your pleasures."

  "I did not know my wife was there," he said quietly.

  "Ah." She tapped the table once in comprehension as their food was delivered. She waited until the girl left to say, "You prefer your affairs to remain discreet."

  He didn’t touch his food. "You don’t understand men at all, do you?"

  The question shocked her dumb. No one knew men better, but she had to admit this one was a mystery.

  * * * *

  He knew what she was doing. The only thing that kept his temper in check was the knowledge that she cared, deeply, if her attempts to anger him were any indication. She wanted to get rise out of him, seemed to need it. The way she used her fork in short, quick jabs spoke of her resentment just as her frown broadcast her unease.

  Roland didn’t blame her. Wouldn’t he feel the same about a woman who’d kept a lover under his nose? Or worse, a string of them, as she very well knew. No matter the terms of their marriage, no matter that he’d truly thought her happy to be rid of him, it obviously burned her. Why else would she react the way she had?

  The memory of her teeth chattering as she tried to seduce the stable lad made him snort. Pitiful. Another man would have beaten her for it. That or laughed himself sick. Lust had certainly not been the motivating factor there.

  She didn’t trust him, and he couldn’t blame her. He knew what he’d pledged when he’d offered to consummate their marriage. Fidelity was the least she could expect, but he’d demand it in return. The trick was to get her pulling with the harness instead of against it. The moment they were in tandem he could expect great things from this union, but she had to try first.

  She had to trust.

  * * * *

  Ally locked her bedroom door that night. Roland hadn’t tried to flirt with her. Other than staking his claim earlier, he hadn’t tried to seduce her, either. Strange behavior from a man who’d claimed to want to consummate. Maybe he was waiting to reach Riverdell.

  Her eyes narrowed. Maybe he was seducing a maid after all.

  No, he’d made too big a fuss earlier about propriety. In the future if he had an affair he’d probably keep it quiet, or try to. Not much went on at Riverdell that she didn’t hear about.

  She smiled. So, the man didn’t like to be embarrassed by unconventional behavior. Well, add another idea to her tactics list, for when she wasn’t avoiding him she would be certain to shock him as often as possible. It shouldn’t be difficult, for daily she did things outside the norm expected of women. If he wanted to settle then he would have to find another woman. This one refused to waste another day on him.

  * * * *

  They rode into Riverdell a few days later. The people smiled or waved at her and she merrily returned the gesture, cheered to know that they probably didn’t recognize the imposing stranger who rode with her. Why should they? These were her people, her dower lands. She doubted Roland had ever set foot here, for most of their dealings had been on his land.

  Here she had power, influence, and loyalty. If Roland tried to heavy-hand his way into these people’s’ lives they would only turn to her the more. She would fight for them, and they knew it. It was inconceivable that they would welcome their absentee lord. Foreign warriors did not impress them. A man who took care of his people would.

  Allyson knew he was not the sort to do that.

  A crowd of children formed in front and in back as Allyson’s horse and those of her escort walked along the cobbled streets. "Lady Allyson! Lady Fair!" they shouted. "Tell us a story, Lady Allyson."

  She grinned and waved back, for all her rush to leave, she was still glad to be home. "Another time, doves." One of her favorite things to do was to gather the children in the square when the days were fine and perform stories for them. Last winter she’d hired a wandering bard to teach them stories every day, and she provided a teacher for those children and adults who wished to learn reading and writing. The secret of her success lay in educating her people and attracting talented craftsmen and farmers to Riverdell. It worked admirably, and her substantial yearly tithe to the crown had given her considerable influence at court.

  In most matters at least. She slanted a look at Roland. If only she could keep him from opening his mouth, she might have saved a great deal of time.

  No matter. Come next year she’d be sunning herself on a tropical beach, a cool drink in one hand and a bronze native at her feet, massaging her toes.

  "You seem happy to be home." Roland looked at her curiously.

  She flashed a smile. "Actually I was dreaming of my island paradise and future … steward."

  He held her gaze. "I’ll have to teach you higher aspirations, my lady."

  A shrug was all the answer she would give. She’d achieved most of her goals, those involving the welfare of others. So what if her dreams were small? Now it was her turn.

  Perhaps after she’d rested from the burden of caring for others she’d finally have the leisure to conceive a larger dream.

  Unwilling to discuss her hopes with him, she pointed to the lush fields as they left the town. "I was fortunate to have a fertile land as my dower, and Riverdell has prospered under my care. We’ve imported seeds and ideas from many countries and diversified and increased the land planted in orchard and woods. Too many lords are unmindful of the future and wantonly harvest their woods until there is nothing left for their people to heat their homes. We’ve done what we could to avoid that here."

  "We?"

  "I have my advisors. The best of the craftsmen represent the people’s concerns to me, and I walk among them when I can."

  "And their children love you," Roland observed.

  "It never hurts to have the good opinion of the next generation," she agreed.

  "And you learned all this by yourself?" He seemed impressed.

  Allyson shook her head as bitter memories shadowed her heart. "My father demanded it of all his children, even his daughters. He’d seen too many estates go to ruin when the husband went off to war and the ignorant wife knew nothing of management. It galled him to see good land neglected for want of knowledge. I think he’s a merchant at heart." The last was said with a hint of scorn, for she despised her father for allowing her to be married off like property.

  They topped a rise and she smiled, for the keep was in view. Fresh air scented with the flowers of spring heralded the event like petals at a bridal feast as she gazed at the towers and walls of her castle.

  The next instant she frowned as a company of riders approached. Her steward, the elderly Chirr, rode at the head. From his expression he had sobering news.

  "My lady, Lord Darchours," he nodded respectfully. "My lady, I knew you would appreciate the warning. Your father is in residence, having just arrived. He expressed an interest in welcoming your … er, Lord Darchours home."

  Allyson’s nostrils flared. She knew what her father was up to. The only consolation was that Roland had no more love for the man than she did. "Did he? How very thoughtful. I supposed he haunts the doorway?"

  "Paces the hearth, my lady."

  "Ah. Thank you for the warning, Chirr." She smiled at Roland. "I do hope you’re in the mood for a chat, dearest. Father is certain to have a great deal to say to you."

  Chapter 7

  "Ah! The wayward husband returns." Allyson’s graying father, the irrepressible Lord Harris, strode forward and shook Roland’s hand. With an expression of relief, he said, "I’d long hoped you’d return and take her in hand."

  Roland glanced at Allyson, who simply sent Harris a vaguely repulsed look as she quietly conferred with her steward. Was this scene such a common one for her that she’d lost all ability to care? Most women would have been cringing in embarrassment.

  Obviously ready to let the past lie, Harris presumptuously steered Roland aside. "You’ve no idea how irksome she’s become, lad. Its one thing for a man to sow a bit of seed, but your wife has been embarrassi
ngly generous, if you understand. Distressingly frank about it, too. I’ve become the joke material for the entire countryside."

  From Allyson’s studiously oblivious expression, Roland figured she could hear every word. Hardly surprising, since Harris appeared to be slightly hard of hearing. Slightly stupid, too, if he unquestioningly believed every piece of gossip which slithered to his ears. Besides, the man had been unabashedly unfaithful to his wife for years. How could he think that his daughter’s antics could be any more harmful to his reputation than his own?

  He’d never dealt much with Harris. Allyson had requested early on that the man not be allowed visits so he’d barred him from his gate. At the time his own father was unwelcome in his home, too, so he’d thought little of it.

  He was surprised to see Harris here now.

  Harris frowned at his continued silence. "Well? Rumor has it you’re back to stay, man. Are you going to rein her in or not?"

  No one had questioned Roland so presumptuously since he was a boy. He didn’t like it. Obviously Harris needed a reminder that he was no longer the green lad he’d once helped force into wedlock. "I will mind the honor of my house, Harris. Go home and mind your own."

  Harris reared back. "What! Have you no pride, boy? Your neighbors are laughing at you."

  Roland stared him down. "I think it’s their laughter at your expense that you find the most distressing. Good day, Harris." He left Harris swearing without a backward glance.

  * * * *

  "I like your husband," Chirr said.

  "I’ll give him this moment," Allyson agreed. It was a pleasure to see her father set down. He’d said for years that Roland would come home and ‘control’ her. How nice to see Roland had no immediate plans to try it. Not that he could, if he wanted to charm her into his bed.

  Reminded of that, Allyson looked at Chirr. "His lordship will sleep in the dragon suite. I’m sure he’ll be comfortable there." Since it was every bit as comfortable as her own peacock suite, he should have no complaints.